The Sleepover
by Mistykins06
Summary: Molly Hooper made an impulsive decision after a long, long day. "I'm sleeping here tonight."
1. Chapter 1

The Sleepover

She'd never been able to turn him down. It really didn't matter that it was after a twelve hour shift, an incredibly busy shift at that, no when one Sherlock Holmes invited her over to get her opinion on his latest home experiment she went willingly.

It was one such night, where the two had gotten caught up in the results of different battery acids on ears that Molly Hooper had brought that she realized just how exhausted she was and how late the hour had become. She gave a huge yawn that went ignored by Sherlock. Then she stood and stretched the back muscles that screamed for respite, turning as she did so to carry the left over take alway boxes to the trash. Turning back, she surveyed the man focused on his pipettes and dripping the corrosive liquid onto the eroding flesh he was in his zone and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. As another massive yawn shook her body, Molly Hooper made an impulsive decision. "I'm sleeping here tonight."

Sherlock stilled momentarily before looking over his shoulder at her through his heavy googles. He shifted his eyes across her person and seemed a bit perplexed. "Why would you do that?"

Molly stepped closer to the table, removing her own gloves and googles. "Because, I am exhausted. It's nearly half one and I should have gone home hours ago."

Sherlock stayed exactly as he was, looking at her closely "You mean to sleep where exactly?"

Molly's first thought was to demure and say the couch. But she knew he was still going to be working and she would stay awake with him so near. "I'll take Johns old bedroom or yours would do fine."

Sherlock froze and paused as he considered. "There's no sheets on the bed upstairs. And it's covered in boxes from that case a few weeks back besides."

"So your room then?" Molly still stood awkward and waiting for Sherlock to say yes.

"The couch is perfectly comfortable." He reasoned.

"Yes, but you are still working though. I'd never be able to rest with the lights on. So, your bed it is. Is it cleaned off or not?" Molly huffed. The beds owner was still, lost in thought. Something Molly did not have the patience for at that late an hour. "Honestly, I just want sleep. Can I sleep here or not?"

"I just don't see why you want to." Sherlock finally admitted.

"Because I am tired! I don't want to wait 20 minutes for a cab for another 20 minute ride when there's a bed unoccupied 20 feet away! Besides, it's not like we've never slept in the same flat before. You've used MY bed many times. What's the difference in me borrowing your bed for once?!" Molly demanded.

"Well when you put it that way..." Sherlock rambled then stood making a move to pull off his own lab equipment. Breathing in a calming breath he looked at her. "Do you... Have need of anything?"

Molly thought then blushed a bit before she spoke. "I have a toothbrush with me, but um, perhaps you have something I can borrow to... Um. Well to sleep in?"

"Ah." He let his eyes roam over her and Molly suddenly felt small as if he was reading her mentally to get her exact measurements. Was it to find something to fit? It was tremendously disconcerting given his harsh criticism in the past of her figure. The fact that inappropriate thoughts she'd long held onto of wearing his signature dress shirts flashed in her mind and color flew to her cheeks. Thankfully she was saved be him and his own embarrassment. "Let me see if I can find something that will fit your..." He didn't finish just flourished his hands toward her general direction before dropping them and huffing of towards his room.

Molly took a head clearing deep breath and followed him the few steps over to his room. Sherlock went in and clicked the light spilling parts of the room with warm light. He strode over to the wardrobe and opened it up, pulling out an item here and there. Molly took the opportunity and studied the room that she had very well coerced her way into tonight. A large grand bed stood largely beside her. A pristine white coverlet graced it with equally unexpected fine, elegant sheets. The walls were the papered behind the it in a golden fluer de lise that was a companion to the striking Victorian paper in the living room while the other walls were covered in the same love jade paper. All together it looked deceptively luxurious. The dark mahogany and white linens it created an almost elegant flair. Definitely not what she would have thought Sherlock would have chosen for himself.

The room was rich and elaborate in its essentials, but it's accessories were varied and eclectic. With this and that decorating each spare surface, odds and ends that showed there'd been no real attempt to decorate the space I thing that even resembled an attempt to decorate the space. Nothing about the Chinese print over the bed screamed Sherlock, nor did the mid century record cabinet but turning around she spotted something that suited his taste perfectly. The thought of it being the last thing he looked at each night made her giggle.

"What?" Asked the owner, strutting back to stop right before her, folded bed clothes in his hands.

Smiling, Molly pointed to the period table on the wall behind the door. "Function over form." It was a joke, but not one that Sherlock appeared to be getting. Laughing Molly started to explain, "In interior design the theory of 'form vs-."

"Function. Yes, I am aware." He raised a brow at her quizzically. Curious as to why it should be so amusing.

"Oh. Sorry. Of course." She looked down, self-consciously. But up again in her own slight confusion. "But you have them all memorized already. I know you do." Looking at the chart closer Molly noted the absence of all the most recent elements. It dated the chart considerably. "It's sentimental isn't it?"

Sherlock was taken aback by the deduction and lifted the features of his in face in surprise, eyebrows shooting up and his lips soon following. Pride shined out, not the chagrin she feared would wash his face. "Pinched it from my primary public school." He admitted with a childish grin.

"You little thief." Molly chided, smiling in-spite of herself up at him. They stood smiling and standing close to one another.

"Says the woman stealing my bed tonight." Sherlock said, his voice full of false indignation that a tone of what Molly would have called flirting if she hadn't known better. But she was more than likely just mistaken. He did have a sense of humor that peeked out occasionally.

Reaching out to take the clothes, and finally breaking eye contact. She couldn't help but tease him back though "Well, I did learn from the best." Her hands stilled as she felt Sherlocks own warm and soft between fabric. The quiet intimacy filled the moment. So near to one another, neither stepping away. Molly chanced a look up at the tumultuous eyes above her. Green, refracting the light and color around them. So enthralovely study case one of these days...

Their owner however couldn't take in enough of the face of the woman in front of him. The warm light making her skin glow and make her own brown eyes come aglow with light. Lashes sweeping across her cheeks every so often. "Lovely." He whispered softly.

Molly's face avowed her immense confusion. "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock swallowed thickly. "I said lovely. I've created a monster." Molly's shock seemed to dissipate and something that looked and a great deal like disappointment colored her face, before a smile came up to mask it.

"Ah." She breathed deeply. "Well thank you for these. I'll just get changed and wash up. Thank you."

Sherlock nodded then impulsively leaned towards her before stilling and turning out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Molly waited a second before turning to look at the room before she began undressing. _I'm undressing in Sherlocks room!_ She giggledto herself like a teenager over that prospect before reaching to pull the closes he given her to borrow. Pulling the unbelievably soft fabric up to her nose she took a sniff. God but he smelled amazing."Stupid pheromones." Even stupider Molly. She sighed and pulled the shirt down on her head, trying to ignore the intimacy of wearing something that belonged to _him_ andof the overwhelming scent coming off the shirt of Sherlock. Picking up the pair of pajama pants Molly held them out and eyed them, wondering how she was going to even fit them. She slipped her own trousers off, before pulling on the cashmere soft flannel. Wondering, not for the first time how Sherlock was able to afford such fine clothing.

They threatened to fall down on her, but a few rolls of the waist and they nearly fit. Grappling her small kit bag out of her larger bag she slipped out to the adjoining bathroom. Sherlock never looked up from the table, although Molly wondered if it was a pretense. She knew he was uncomfortable with the idea of her sleeping over, although she was a bit unsure as to why. After all, they had shared the same residence for many, many nights. This was just her at his, rather than him at hers. Simple.

So why did it have to feel so awkward?

Clean faced, and fresh breathed and hair wrapped up into a messy, yet comfortable top knot, Molly emerged from the bath, Sherlock still refused to look toward her. "All set." The man child merely grunted towards her. "Sherlock..."

Stilling he shifted his eyes toward her taking her in, head to toe in his sleep clothes. "Did you need anything from the bedroom before I go to sleep?" Sherlock continued to peer at her before giving a small shake. Molly nodded once and murmured a repeatedly goodnight. She walked to the bedroom door before turning back around to say "Thank you Sherlock, for letting me stay." Sherlock ignores her till the door closed. As it clicked shut, he turned to stare at the door. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

The Sleepover 2

There was a woman in his bed. Again.

Sherlock Holmes was not sure how or why this situation kept happening to him. First there was The Woman, who had daringly let herself in while she was a wanted woman and made use of his shower before leaving herself in his bed for him to find, complete with dripping wet hair on his pillow. She'd swathed herself in his blue dressing gown and manipulated him into revealing a national secret. Oops.

Then there'd been Janine with whom he had feigned romance in order to gain entrance to her employers office. Janine, who had truly made herself at home in his flat, who pranced about the flat in whatever day old shirts he left about and kissed him and treated him as though he were her personal chair. This, Sherlock supposed it was all for the best as it did help him gain the access he needed to Magnussen (not that THAT had ended well) but it was effective. And Janine's means of revenge led to a slander campaign scandal across a number of tabloids. Whoops.

Which lead to the thought that troubled him most. It wasn't some case that had brought a woman to a bed. No, it was far more complex issue for tonight it was Molly Hooper availing herself of his bed. Not that she had exactly asked to stay. Most likely because the minx very well knew he would say no if he asked.

However, after she'd told him she was going to stay, she had

then politely(ish) asked where she could stay. She'd even asked before putting on his clothes, and that was only after he had asked had she need of anything. And somehow this felt... different. Different from the others who'd slept there and different still from all the nights he had spent at her flat.

She was right- Fundamentally there was nothing different about this situation from when he would overtake her room forcing her to that pathetic excuse of a bed in her guest room. And it's not like he wouldn't have taken her pathetic excuse of a bed she kept in there, had it not been an ancient Ikea futon. A Futon for God's sakes! How was he supposed to stretch out in something smaller then himself? Had it been a real bed he'd have happily slept on it. Obviously. It had nothing to do with the delicate scent of her that lingered on the sheets. Sherlock shifted, distracted momentarily by the remembrance of that undefinable something in her scent that was so calming to him. Shaking his head he refocused.

The nagging difference... It was the way _he_ felt having Molly so near and in his bed. Molly was here, close and for an extended period of time the sole occupant of his bed. It was all so disconcerting. Was this how she had felt the first time he had flopped into her flat? Unsettled and unsure about what was happening and what he was supposed to be doing at this time?Was this a bit of turn around being fair play?

No doubt that it was earned. Molly very well followed his example by nearly insinuated that he wasn't even allowed in his bedroom, neatly claiming it for her own domain for the night with her dismissal. A clear page from his own book. One that she'd learned well it seemed, much to his chagrin.

Breathing in deeply Sherlock sat forward to place his elbows on the table while he braced his chin in his thinking pose. Before he could give the matter a deep thought he found that he was distracted by the sight of things left on the table before him. The materials they had used to experiment covered the table and his attention lagged on the duplicate sets of protective gear lying together. It had been enjoyable having Molly here to experiment with lately. Clearly she was comfortable around him once more which made a world of difference. After all, there was no fiancé to feel guilt from, no threat of the 'ghost' of Moriarty returning and he had reaffirmed his sobriety allowing no drugs to be anywhere near him for months. And now that the Watson's had given birth to their daughter it seemed that Molly and he were constantly finding reasons to be together. Meeting up at Bart's would lead to dinner and a walk. Calling in on Mary and John would lead to plans to get together the next day and soon it seemed that they spent a few nights a week together. They would even go out if it pertained to a case as Molly always did have excellent observational skills, it be a shame not to take advantage of her offer to help.

Curiously, it was easier than he had ever have thought the way that Molly Hooper fit into his life. She was so inherently different from himself. All brightness and joy where he was dark and cantankerous. The shadows seemed to soften not threaten as they did when he was alone. A yin to his yang. Sherlocks face scrunched up at the analogy his mind supplied but grudgingly acknowledged that it fit. In short he liked her being near.

Admittedly, once Molly convinced him to let her stay the thought occurred that she might share his bed with him and that he might have the opportunity to see if her scent was as comforting In person. Not in any untoward way, just... It might be nice. He liked being near her, he enjoyed the calmness of her presence. The thought had become even more appealing when she'd come out of the bath, nearly drowning in a pair of his pyjamas. Molly had looked so... Soft. Comfortable even.

Which was completely and utterly idiotic that he would be so effected by her dressed like that. It's not like he's never seen Molly in pyjamas before. He'd spent enough time at her flat, expected and less so to know that Molly always favored loose oversized sleepwear. That she always slept with her hair up and back as she wore it tonight. It wasn't like she had put on any pretense whilst sleeping there at his. No she was still Molly. Just Molly now drowning in HIS own loose clothing. And currently curled up in his covers let of his bed. Sherlock groaned softly imagining her curled up in his sheets.

Oh he was honest enough with himself to admit that he'd imagined her in his bed, however that had been under more fanciful circumstances. Ones where he'd be the one to lead her there and they'd share intimacies in the shadows of the room. And yet... The idea of her seeking simple rest in his bed wasn't wholly unpleasant. The situation of Molly in his bed, alone. That was the the bit that was bothersome. And dammit all to hell he wanted to be there too.

Leaning back on his chair he crossed his arms across his chest as he continued to glare toward the door. She was still awake, at least according to the light beneath its frame. He could still knock, could say... _Yes, say what exactly Sherloc_ k? Huffing, he stood from the chair. _Tell her that you want to share the room you dolt_. There was more than a fair chance that that doing so would only anger and frustrate her. _Ask to sleep beside her and hold her? Because that sounds just like you. Or don't say anything, just do it!_ He walked toward the door before freezing and thinking it through. She might slap him, cut him out of her life and move to Timbuktu or Ohio or somewhere she was equally sure to never to see him again. Shaken, Sherlock stopped and turned to enter the bath instead. After a brief awkward moment he decided to relieve one of humans more tedious bodily needs then washed his hands and rinsed and his face before eyeing himself in the mirror. It didn't help. All he saw was the light coming on in from behind him in the mirror. His bed just on the other side of that wall. Staring at the light he pondered on.

While he'd been away he'd had it all planned out. Return to being Sherlock Holmes, and let Molly Hooper step into his life. She had proven her self time and time again. Even in more recent days she'd certainly proven that she was more than capable of handling him. However, a thin piece of metal and a speck of a glimmering rock and it was suddenly too late. Sherlock had missed his chance. It hadn't mattered how he'd longed for her smiles or her soft touches. Molly Hooper had promised her future to another. A choice he could well understand. Of course now that ring was long gone, as was the fool fiancé... If he knew what to do...

He was still staring at the mirror, water running free when the light went off in the room behind the panel of frosted glass door that lead into the bedroom. Another missed chance.

He turned the water off before cutting the bathrooms own light and strode slowly back towards the living room. Bypassing the experiment he choose his leather chair to flop into. Legs stretched forth for drummed the arms. This was it. The time for action and it was time to take the matter into his hands: this was his opportunity to show her just how much he wanted her to play a larger factor in his life. He was motivated to do so and he had motive. Now he just had to find the means to show her. A plan began to take hold in his mind. There would be several hours till she would wake. He could show her how appreciative he was for her. Yes, he had time, he could do this.

First though, it was time to clean the kitchen. Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste, but as his eye caught the bedroom door he reminded himself that Molly was unquestionably worth it. Standing to get to work he began to pick up as he worked out some other details of what to have ready for the morning ahead.

The only thing he was sure of was that he hoped that she never ventured upstairs and found that the guest bed was perfectly clean.

* * *

A/N

Apologies for taking so long. Its been a time for my family and has left me little to no mental capacity to write. One more Chapter to go in this mini adventure. I want to send a warm thank you to all of you who have favorite(d) or followed and a big squishy cuddle to all you wonderful commentators.

Also feel free to find me on Tumblr!

Love and kittens,

Mistykins06


	3. Chapter 3

The sleepover 3

Light fell across her face as Molly rolled awake, murmuring a bit as she dug her face deeper into her pillow desperately trying to cling to quickly vanishing ebbs of sleep when it hit her. This wasn't her pillow. It wasn't her bed, or her clothes that she was wearing.

"Oh God!" She whined, hand rubbing across her eyes. Sitting up, Molly grabbed the phone out of her bag. Why had she not set the alarm!? She read the screen and saw that it was 7 o'clock. Her shift was set to begin in an hour and a half. Cursing to herself and muttered as she burst from the bed tearing at the sheets. She had to get home and get changed before her shift began.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no." Molly yanked off the slipping flannel, tore off the tee before throwing on yesterday's worn (and stained, she noted with dismay) trousers and shirt. Her sweater, she remembered, was still out in the lounge.

Pulling her bag around her, she turned and briefly reviewed the room. Groaning, she picked up the clothes that Sherlock (Sherlock! What was he doing right now?!) had lent her before debating whether to make the bed or not. As much as she wanted just to bolt, her mother's voice rang out and insisted that she not leave it like it was. She decided to simply tidy the sheets and coverlet before picking up her bag to leave once more. As much as she wished to simply flee from the flat a trip to the bath was unavoidable. Quiet as could be, she rinsed her face, brushed her teeth and winced over the unfortunate pillow marks that covered the left side of her face. Yanking her slipping hair out of its bun to shake it out, she reviewed her appearance. Awful, but there was nothing to be done about it. Gulping in a steadying breath, she stepped into the hall.

The moment she crossed from the hall into the kitchen, she froze. The table that was covered the night before in lab equipment was bare but for a table cloth and two place settings full of a delicious looking breakfast. Sherlock sat at the head of the table with the daily paper in front of him, blocking his face. A fact Molly was increasing thankful for as she was positive that she expression on her face was one of complete gob smacked.

"Um... Morning, Sherlock." Molly let her hands pull through her hair, braiding strands together as she stood in the door and waited for Sherlock's acknowledgment and an explanation.

"Ah, Molly, good morning!" The paper folded down fast and neat into its former shape as Sherlock, dressed in the same clothes as the night before but with a camel dressing gown, sat neat, tidy and handsome as sin before her while she was a wrinkly shabby crinkle-faced mess. Sherlock stood and crossed the table towards the doorway where she still lingered. The easy smile on his face made her forget momentarily that breathing was a necessary bodily function. "Come, sit and eat." Spinning around, he turned to sit once more, using his hand to indicate that Molly was supposed to join him.

Shaking her head to clear her confusion, Molly spoke, "Uh, well this looks..." Strange. "Ah, really lovely but I have an hour to make it by my flat and to Bart's. So I'll just... get going then." Molly looked around the room, trying to remember where she'd placed that sweater. She walked through to the living room, eyes darting about. "So ah, thanks again for last night... It was." Divine sleeping in your bed. "Nice... Yes really, ah, nice to, ah, get some rest," turning around to find a perplexed Sherlock. "Um, my sweater, have you moved it?"

Sherlock had risen once more and was standing right at the divider between rooms. Eyebrows raised and nose scrunched as he considered her. "Molly," he said gently.

"I appreciate dinner and letting me stay in your room and whatever that is in there that you are doing now... But I have to go. I'm sorry but-"

"Just stay for breakfast, Molly. I have all your favorites." Sherlock stepped closer and Molly was all too aware of how his scent rolled off of him. The part of her that was still so tired longed to curl back up in that scent and drift off. Normally she had more self-censorship but today, after being surrounded by it all night, it wasn't suppressed so easily. The fact that he was standing so close was more than a tiny bit disconcerting as well. She looked up and found herself looking first at the warm grey of his eyes before being distracted by his teeth darting to bite at his lip. An action she suddenly realized that he was unconsciously mirroring from her own lips. Sherlock looked... well if she didn't know better he looked like he was going to kiss her.

He stilled and nearly whispered, "Please stay?"

"I'd love to its just... Well, I need to feed Toby." Right. The cat. Good call Molly. Was Sherlock inching closer? It felt like he was coming closer. And you're going to bring up Toby. Nice move Hooper.

"Taken care of," Sherlock murmured. Why was he coming so close?!

"What?" Molly shook her eyes off his gorgeous lips to look back at his eyes. He was hovering closer to her. Okay, not her imagination then. Why was he nearly on top of her? What was he after?

"I called your neighbor, Mrs. Patel. She was happy to take care of him. Missed their visits apparently."

"You... Have my neighbor's number?" She whispered, equal parts impressed and distressed over that fact.

"Mmhmm." Oh my, that sounded sexy. The timbre reverberated through her, he was so close. "It comes in handy to be friendly with those who live near you. They all have my number. Just in case they see something unusual." Molly was now positive that he was going to kiss her. There was no other explanation that her mind could come up with. And if he really was going to kiss her... well, then she really wasn't going to fight it, not when she wanted it every bit as much as he apparently did. Gulping, she tried to steady her racing heart. Only the taste of her mouth distracted her. Oh no!

Morning breath!

Sherlock Holmes was nearing her in what she was almost willing to bet her entire pension savings on was a look of intent, and she was going to have a lingering dose of morning breath. Curse her lack of mouthwash!

Molly froze. No. Not like this. If this was what she thought it might be then she couldn't let it happen like this. Not with horrible halitosis. If he really was going to kiss her then she'd prefer it to be with a bit better breath. The fact that his own breath hinted smelled of tea and a bit of toast and marmalade only strengthened her resolve. "Ah. Well that's... Lovely. But I do have to get changed too. After all, if I show up in the exact outfit I wore yesterday there will be talk... and I mentioned I was coming here so..." She let the thought drift off, looking left and right for her means of escape.

"So you don't want people to know you spent the night here?" Sherlock stilled as he questioned her. A hint of hurt lacing through his words.

"Well no, not really. I mean they'll assume that we, you know...spent the night together." Molly said, raising her own brows to show her meaning. Sherlock hasn't moved closer but he has yet to retreat either.

"But we did spend last night together." He leaned back a bit to see her face fully while trying to decide why Molly felt the need to hide that fact from others.

Her cheeks were flaming hot, yet she tried again. "Well yes, but they'll assume we went to bed together, Sherlock. As in THAT kind of spending the night." Molly used her inflection and eyebrows to stress her point.

Sherlock looked at her as if the prospect didn't bother him in the slightest. "Oh?"

"You...want them to think that we slept... Together?" Molly queried.

Sherlock turned to return to the table. "What?" He scoffed. "Of course not. I couldn't care less of what the gossips at the hospital say."

"Oh really?" Molly challenged. Why were they arguing!? How did he just go from looking like he was attempting to snog her breathless to being sullen so quickly!

"What? Does it really surprise you that 'shag-a-lot' Holmes isn't concerned about the office gossips of St Bart's discussing my so-called promiscuous habits?" He snapped sarcastically.

"No, but I'd rather not be lumped up in them just the same thank you very much!" She reasoned. Really, Molly had better things to deal with then the gossips at the office and her lackluster love life. Frustrated, she strode over to the living room once again intent on finding her damn sweater and leaving.

Sherlock huffed and sat down in his seat at the table before looking at her and bursting back up, as if whatever he needed to say couldn't be kept down. "Is the thought of being connected to me in a sexual context really that repugnant to you Molly?" Sherlock thundered.

Molly stopped and stared over at him. Sherlock looked far more vulnerable than she'd would have ever expectedly. Shaking her head she wondered "Why would you even ask me that, Sherlock!?"

He stilled and glared at her. "Does it?" His voice bit out.

"No!" Molly cried out. Oh dear. She hadn't really meant to admit that. Slamming her eyes shut she spun around away from him. "But that doesn't mean I want people discussing my... my personal life and making assumptions about us just because I'm wearing the same stained trousers as yesterday! Now where the hell is my sweater? I've really got to be going."

"Molly, sit down and eat some breakfast." Sherlock shouted. "I put it together for you and not eating it would be unforgivably rude of you."

"I already told you-."

A knock sounded on the door before it opened letting in a giddy Mrs. Hudson. "If you two are nearly finished, I have the dress you asked me for, Sherlock." She walked in carrying Molly's cream and black sweater along with one of the older ladies own dresses. A black high necked dress with a white pattern repeated over it. Surely he didn't expect that to be for her!

"Ah, thank you Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock smiled warmly at the older lady as he lifted the dress out of her hands. "This will be sufficient for Molly to wear today. Thank you." But the landlady didn't leave. And he wanted her to wear a dress that belonged to a woman twice her age. What alternate reality had she woken up in this morning,Molly wondered.

Once her hands were free, the kind hearted landlady strode over to Molly and took her face in her hands. "Oh you dear, dear thing. It's about time that you two took the next step! I'm so glad you two have come to terms... It feels like home again to have him so lively this early in the morning. He's missed John so you know." She kissed Molly squarely on the forehead.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock cried. Ignoring him, she pressed on.

"It's been awhile, I'm just glad to see he's finally ready to move on. Although, I suppose he waited till you ended that mess with that complete idiot Tom. But either way, you're here now and I hope you two are very happy together," Mrs. Hudson cooed.

Together? Oh no, not her too! But... What she trying to imply about John and Sherlock!? Did the woman think that he and John had been a couple? Molly supposed that she wouldn't just go around saying that unless she had a reason to do so. Was Sherlock gay? She could have sworn that he wasn't. Particularly after his near snog moments ago. But what if he was? The world was spinning off kilter and Molly was suddenly just ready to be gone.

"John and Molly are two completely different situations. I assure you that my relationship with one has nothing to do with the other." Sherlock continued as he took the dress to his room, before returning to the kitchen. Molly felt her cheeks heating up before the sensation of the blood draining away over took her. She knew that she and Sherlock had never done anything that could even remotely be considered romantic, so if it was different from John... Oh. OH! Needing to sit, she grabbed a kitchen chair and sat down. Obviously, she'd heard the rumors over the years. How could she not have? But never had she believed them. Perhaps she was a fool.

After all, she'd been blinded before. Why couldn't she have missed the signs about Sherlock and John? She felt ill. Physically ill. Hope, no matter how small, had bloomed constantly in her heart that one day, just maybe one day, they would get together; that he had felt something towards her. But if she had been wrong! How uncomfortable must she have made him. Embarrassment and heartbreak warred deep in her. Molly gasped and knew she was moments away from breaking down. Oh god, she had to leave. Screw the sweater and the clothes, she needed to leave now. She would call in sick but she just had to get out. Shooting up, she made to run but Sherlock's reflexes were too quick and his hand shot out to grasp her arm and he pulled her back before she could make it anywhere near the door. Molly felt tears fill her eyes and fall before she could stop them. "I suggest you leave now, Mrs. Hudson. You've upset my guest." He rumbled, voice tight and barely constrained irritation evident through it.

"I wouldn't blame that on me. I could hear your little domestic from down below quiet clearly dear," she chided, "But I'll leave. Goodbye Molly. Come by for tea soon, yes?" Molly ignored her. If she had her way she would never again set foot in 221 Baker Street again. With a final clap of the door and the flat went silent. Oppressively silent. Sherlock stood, hands on his dressing gown clad hips and faced away from her while Molly sat tense, and crying like an idiot.

"Can I just leave now? Please?" She begged through warbled tears.

"Molly." Sherlock said. He grimaced. "This is all going wrong." Walking over to his favored chair he collapsed down into it. As soon as he dropped Molly stood once more and made to run again, while Sherlock, swift as he was, grabbed her once more and spun her around towards him enfolding her in his arms. "I've made a fine mess of this." The comforting smell of him crashed into her and Molly was soon sobbing into his chest. "Talking about...these things isn't my area, Molly. We both know this don't we?"

Molly's only answer was another sob as she gripped onto either side of the lapels of the dressing gown. "I really tried, Molly... To show you. I tried." Through tears Molly noticed that she wasn't the only one gripping on. Sherlock had her surrounded in his arms. One arm tight about her waist and another across her back with his fingers soothing through the top of her hair. They stood like that, holding tightly to one another until Molly breathed with only the occasional sniffle.

"Sherlock, I have no idea what's happening here this morning." Molly sighed. "What's going on?"

Stilling he pulled in a deep breath before he spoke. "It surprises me how much I enjoyed you staying here last night. I... Enjoyed you being so near. When I saw you standing in the hall dressed in my borrowed clothes, it struck me how right it felt having you here. How comfortable it was being with you here. How I want you to be comfortable here. So, I took a lesson from you and did what you have done for me in the past."

"Oh." The way she had fed him to help him build up strength after a case. Keeping spare clothes for him to wear after he's tumbled in cut and bloody from a fight. The way she kept his favorite mug handy and preferred biscuits at the ready. Taking care of him. Sherlock Holmes was trying to do those things now for her. Why?

"This wasn't about saying thank you however." Of course he'd followed her train of thought. "This is how I'm trying, very, very badly to say... that you are welcome." The end of the phrase his voice went up, almost as if he was asking a question rather than answering one. There was something hidden, something close to the surface but not breaking that he was trying to show. Near, but not clear enough that he was trying to convey.

"Oh?"

"I'd like you... That is to say I want you…no not I... Although I do...but that is to say, if you want. You are welcome. Here at Baker Street. Anytime you want. To stay."

Her heart squeezed with another painful ache. "Sherlock, are you trying to ask me to be your roommate?"

His eyes widened in surprise and Molly knew he was thinking deeply and that he might be that way for a while. She realized that this may well and truly be the only time she would know what it was like to be simply held by Sherlock Holmes and thus, she decided to savor it. Molly slowly shifted her head until she found just right spot, right above his heart. Its steady rhythm was such a beautiful comforting sound. There was no way she could ever consent to live here. So near and close to him without wanting to hear that everyday. To be reminded that he was alive and while and simply still there.

"I make for a terrible flat mate, Molly. I could go days without speaking." He finally spoke, his voice was soft and low but she felt it rumbling feel like thunder under her cheek. "And the violin, I don't think you've heard me play it. But I know it's an instrument you enjoy. That wouldn't be to detrimental to you being here.

"As for my other faults, they are many. You know the contents of the refrigerator is not suitable for human consumption. I tend to drop long made plans for the thrill of a good case and above all, I am a thoughtless bastard when it comes to your feelings. I would hurt you. Weekly, at best and daily is far more likely. That's inevitable." Sherlock took the hand that had been soothing her hair and reached to grab her own hand before pulling it to his lips for a soft kiss before gripping it to his chest once more.

"But I am selfish too. And I... I want you Molly. Not as a flatmate but defiantly in a bit more of a roommate though. Well, actually yes as a roommate and a... "

His thoughts drifted off unsaid as he searched for the correct term and Molly begin to hope once more, and let out a breathless hope. "Girlfriend?" Right as he said his own alternative.

"Bedmate"

Bedmate!? A freaking bedmate? Anger and disbelief flashed over her. "Sherlock... Breakfast this morning and getting me a change of clothes- Taking care of Toby. We're those all things you did to seduce me?"

His chin tilted and the heavy brow lifted sky high, but he refused to meet her eye. "Well, that depends."

"On?"

"On whether or not it is working!" His tone was shy and hesitant.

Molly looked close at Sherlock, noting his nerves mixed with his sincerity.

"Bedmate? You are asking me to be some-sort of friends-with-benefits? Have me when you want then ignore me. Are we then going to go right back to flattering me for favors?" Anger erupted within her and Molly shoved herself backwards off his chest. "And then what? Every time you feel randy, you call me? Show up at my flat and expect full access to me and my flat!"

"No! What? No! That's not what I'm trying to say." He let her walk away putting some space between them. "

"Well then what is it that you ARE trying to say? Just tell me!" Molly exclaimed.

Sherlock's eyes tightened on her and she forgot how to breathe. She knew that look, he was deducing every inch and secret about her from her knotty braid to her crease worn face and the wrinkled, stained clothing she wore.

The clever man gave none of his findings away as he stared at her, hands buried in his dressing gown pockets. Looking at her as half like she was a daft cow and half as if he were afraid. He closed his eyes and began to speak.

"What I'm trying to say Molly, is that I want you." Eyes flashing open, Molly stared up into them and their wide wild fierceness. "I want you to feel comfortable here. Because I want you to be here... more. With me." Sherlock took the few steps toward her once more. "And if not here than at your place. Or out. Dinner over at John and Mary's even. All the time, I want you. I want you there. With me."

"Together. As in..."

"As in, a relationship." The corner of his mouth kicked up.

"A relationship. Consisting of?" Molly hesitatingly asked in a whisper.

"You and me?" Another half answer, half question.

"Doing?"

"Things?" Another question/ answer

"As in... Case things? Experiment things? Physical things?"

"Physical things?" Full question that one.

"As in... Intimacy." Molly tried casually to say, however she failed miserably and looked over his shoulder as she did.

"Ah." Silence filled the space between them.

"Yes. You and me. Together. Doing things. Normal daily domestic things along with those of an intimate nature. Yes." Sherlock clarified, nearly humming with agitation and Molly just stood looking at him.

"Together... But not a girlfriend?"

"The terms boyfriend and girlfriend are so juvenile. They go back only to the-"

"The point, Sherlock!"

Huffing he went ahead, "I want you to consider me as a partner. As I already think of you."

"As in a domestic partnership." Well that sounded so clinical.

"Yes. Exactly so."

Silence beat long and heavy across them. "The terms?" Molly finally said, the displeasure was ripe in her face and disappointment through her voice.

Heavily sighing, Sherlock spoke carefully "We would have standing plans to be together and full use of one another's flats. Predetermined dinner companions to professional and personal functions (with the understanding of course, that the work must come first.)" he watched her beginnings of a smile and found the nerve to step back closer to her and place his hands on her waist. He lowered his voice deeper, "And of course we will have a plethora of sex."

"A plethora? Of sex!?" Molly gasped out. What was that about?

Sherlock settled hand on the side of her face and pulled her face up to meet his rapidly descending one. "I am more than willing to ensure that our relationship meets all levels of satisfaction Molly."

"Oh?" It was her turn to answer with a question apparently. Clearly he had put a great deal of thought into his argument. It was rather persuasive. Oh hell, it would have been persuasive no matter what he was saying given the look on his face.

"And once we've established a fair and adequate partnership we can talk about advancing things further. Cohabitation and whether we deem ourselves capable or desiring of having a family together." Sherlock leaned down and glided his nose along the curve of her cheek.

"Well you seem to have thought about this." Stupid statement. Utterly. Molly was grinning, and felt her eyes tearing up. Everything she ever wanted was standing before her.

"I have been thinking of it for a number of years." Sherlock smiled in an achingly tender fashion at her. "The timing has been a bit tricky to get right though. The words even more so." Molly slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. Sighing in contentment. "Am I to understand that my terms are agreeable to you Molly?"

"Mr. Holmes, I believe we have a deal."

At that Sherlock bent and held his lips against Molly's own and nearly sang from the eagerness and completeness the connection brought.

They stayed in that occupation for a rather long time. Molly's need to leave was swiftly forgotten as were Sherlock's plans to meet with John a little later in the morning. They were rather caught up in one another.

It was only the buzzing of Molly's phone that pulled them apart from how they had reclined against a wall, tangled limbs and pulled at clothes. The dressing gown was thrown across the room headless of where it landed on the table; the sleeve absorbing the contents of a full tea cup.

Molly finally slipped out of Sherlock's grasp as she snapped to pull her phone from the bag. When she saw it was Mike she cursed (adorably in Sherlock's opinion) and answered the call.

"Molly are you all right?! You never get here after me?" Came Mike's panicked voice.

Sherlock came around behind Molly and was doing some rather wicked distracting on her neck as she tried to form an answer. "Oh sorry... Something has come up and I'm not... Ohhhhh! Able to make it in today."

Sherlock nearly growled from behind her. "You may want to take a full week of time, Molly. We'll be occupied for a while."

Molly flushed and bravely amended her need for time off to deal with the 'situation'. If Mike suspected the reason behind her request the dear man was gracious enough not to pry or let on his suspicions. She ended the call and gave a heady look at the well tousled Sherlock- his eyes bright and luminous more Jade now she noted. One corner of his open mouth cocked up as he offered a hand to her. "Well then, Molly, would you allow me to take you back to bed?"

* * *

A/N

Well that's that! I have to give a huge shout out to ThenewJefferson for helping me pull off a huge editing job on this last chapter. Thank you from the bottom of my heart or your assistance. Also, thank you to all of you who have commented, followed and favorited this story. I love hearing from you all both here and on Tumblr, so feel free to find me on there as well!

And as usual, I don't own any of this, but it sure be nice if i did!


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